Playing Pirates
by KeatsLove
Summary: pre CotBP. Elizabeth wants to play her favorite game Pirates. Will is not enthusiastic about being her slave boy and being forced to carry her luggage.


* * *

"Ow, watch it!" Will says, rubbing his knuckles where I'd just smacked them with the broad side of my wooden sword. "That's not playing fair."

"Pirates don't play fair, dummy!" I say, brandishing my sword. "Avast, me hearty! I'm gonna capture ye and make ye my slave-boy."

"I don't like this game anymore," Will sulks, putting down his sword and sitting at the kitchen table. "Why do we always have to play pirates? Can't you think of a different game?"

I let my sword drop, clattering on the floor, before sitting next to him at the table. "But I haven't made you my slave-boy yet. That's the best part."

"Not for me." Will lays his head on his crossed arms. "Can't we play shopkeeper? Or fierier? I'd even play blacksmith if you want but not pirates. I'm sick of pirates."

"How about bandits?"

"That's the same thing...just on land."

"You can be Will Scarlet."

"I hate when you call me that."

I sit up as straight as my chair back, flipping my hair over my shoulder. "Maybe you should just go home, Will Turner, if you can't find anything agreeable about my company or the games I choose."

He sits up. "I do find many things agreeable about your company, Elizabeth, but the game grates my nerves. I'm not fond of carrying your luggage."

"That's what slave-boys do in all the stories."

"Maybe you've read too many stories."

I lift my chin so I'm looking down at him--the way Poppa says Momma used to do before she died. "I don't believe I appreciate the tone you've taken with me, Will Turner. You can go back to the dank hole you call home and never show your face here again for all I care." I stand in a flouncing of skirts, turning my back to him. "I am counting to ten and then turning around. You better be gone when I do so."

"Elizabeth."

"No arguments. Good bye, Will." I hear his chair legs scrap the hard floor as he stands. "One, two, three, four."

"Elizabeth."

"Five, six, seven--You're running low on time--eight, nine, nine and half...ten..." I turn, half expecting Will to still be there, waiting with hat in hand, willing to say he'll play any game I like. He's not, though. I have actually run him off this time.

"Oh, bugger," I mutter, running my fingers through my hair and tidying up my loose braid. "Now I have to go tell him I'm sorry or he won't ever come back. Celeste!" I yell for my maid. "If Father returns, I am only at the Blacksmith's shop."

She bobs a curtsey after entering. "Shall I help tidy your appearance, Ma'am."

I grab a tea kettle in lieu of my looking glass, screwing up my face at the sight I make in its surface. "Yes. Please. It's only Will but--"

"You still must look presentable for Master Will," Celeste says, trying to hide her smile behind her hand. I scowl at her.

"I don't believe I like your connotation, Celeste. I can easily find a new lady's maid in Port Royal."

Celeste bobs another curtsey. "My apologies, ma'am. Shall we retire to your room to make preparations on your dress."

"Yes..." I scowl again as we climb the stairs to my room. "Don't ever suggest again that I am fixing my appearance for Will Turner's sake."

"No, ma'am," she agrees. "What a silly notion to enter my head."

"Yes. Yes, indeed," I say. "A very silly notion."

"Ah, you're alone. Perfect," I say, removing my hat and hanging it on the hook near the blacksmith entrance. "Will? Will, I'm truly sorry for earlier. Poppa spoils me. Sometimes I can't help acting it."

Will doesn't looks up from his anvil, pounding away on what looks like will soon be a dagger, sweat and grime smearing his features. "You can't expect to sweet talk me every time you do wrong, Elizabeth. Too little, too late."

"But it works," I protest, sidling up to him, making my skirts swish, hands behind my back. "You're my best friend, Will. What am I to do without you?"

"Find another playmate."

"But I don't want another playmate. I want you."

He looks up, hammer clattering and sparks flying. "Y-Y-You want me?"

I nod, reaching up to toy with the dark locks falling over his brow. "Who else will row boats, hold my parasol, and recite any poem I request?" I smile, mussing his hair till it stands up on top. "You're all I want, Will. Don't be angry." He steps back, putting his foot in a bucket, the resulting crash loud as cannon fire. I giggle, moving around the mess till I stand in front of him. "What a silly thing to do, Will. You could have truly hurt yourself."

"I'm...I'm not a toy, Elizabeth. I-I-I--"

"'I-I-I' think you need a hand up." I hold out mine. "Really, Will, don't be cruel. I honestly won't be the same without you."

He stands with my aid, eyeing our entwined hands as we stand shoulder-to-shoulder.

I grin. "There. All better."

"Shall I escort you home, Miss Swann?"

I laugh at the formality. "'Miss Swann.' You are right. I cannot play the tomboy much longer...And yes, thank you, Will. I'd love an escort home."

He releases my hand only long enough to offer me his arm. "Then I shall, Miss Swann."

"Thank you, Mr. Turner."


End file.
